As Greek as it is — what with its themes of incest and of infanticide — Eugene O’Neill’s 1924 play is pure Old Testament, at least in the hands of Corn Exchange. As brutal and vengeful as any Bible story in which the centrepoint is a vindictive God, these themes seem to present themselves as fresh and new, and one initially thinks that the lean, mean version, running at a little over ninety minutes, with a cast reduced from 20 to 5, has much to do with it.

It has something to do with it, but not everything, as even the sparest approach to the text still must manage a confluence of words that would put your common or garden incantatory tent revivalist to shame. How to cope with a mass of verbiage that runs brilliantly counter to a setting and time period in which there was little or nothing? You do what director Annie Ryan and her players did: get it on its feet and keep it moving.

Maree Kearns’ set reflects the hardness and the infertility of the Cabot farm, run with an iron hand by Ephraim (Lalor Roddy). His eldest sons Sim (Luke Griffin) and Peter (Peter Coonan) are belly scratching, bestial hillbillies, whose dreams of Cal-i-for-ni-ay seem like idle boasting until brother Eben (Fionn Walton) exchanges cold, hard cash for their signatures on a document giving over their share of the land to him. It’s a measure of their deep loathing of their father that they actually do take the money and run — but not until they’ve had a look at Pa’s new wife Abbie (Janet Moran). In a place that is unforgiving even to the supposedly dominant masculine principle, the only feminine character is bound to suffer, unless of course she abides by the rule and behaviours of the patriarchy. Abbie surely does, using her sexuality to manipulate young Eben into fornication, as biblical a word as ever was forged, and despite the barrenness of their surroundings, do manage to produce a son, a new hope which has no chance to thrive.

The sheer richness of the themes are reflected in the characters' speech. As unschooled as they are, they nevertheless speak and speak, richly and with an abundance that is missing from every other aspect of the story. It is compelling, but can also make for static theatre, as spare setting + many words can often equal a lot of standing around, orating. Ryan’s physical theatre background precludes any chance of that, and such is the pacing of the movement that even the shifting of a chair can feel explosive, and the most dramatic sweep of an arm can be grandiose and hollow. Each player has a signature physical vocabulary that grounds them in their character’s being, and it becomes as familiar as the movements of the Mass: Walton viciously beats his breast, Roddy punches the air with his walking stick, Griffin and Coonan all but scrape the ground with their knuckles as they move in tandem across the stage. This physical interest lifts the play to an even higher level, allowing the text to breathe in a way that is refreshing, as O’Neill’s style can be oddly melodramatic to the modern ear.

An Irish actor is never going to have an issue with verbiage, and Ryan has her cast locate their accents in the North, a nod to O’Neill’s roots in Co Tyrone. That the rhythm and flow of their speech feels naturally aligned with the playwright’s rhythms is a revelation, another layer peeled back, another discovery made. While the company often do not use the commedia dell’arte make up that they have made famous on these shores, the movement and the listening techniques are still in evidence here, resulting in that gestural lexicon, and bestowing another later of richness onto the proceedings.

The lack of a healthy female principle is at the heart of the piece. The sheer meanness of the Cabot’s patch of Mother Earth, choked with stone and grudgingly yielding, is astonishing, and yet She’s better than nothing, and somehow worth a fight to the death. These folk are trapped, by their wants and their needs, by base ambitions and dreams of retribution, and the trees are symbolic of the only possible outcome. Elm wood was used to make coffins, and the trees were often found quite specifically in graveyards in ancient Greece. While the punishment of a merciless God is a foregone conclusion, it is one that seems brings a feeling of relief in the end. As Abbie and Eben wait for the sheriff, there is still time to appreciate the beautiful sky, a beauty at odds with the deity that they think sits up there, eager to lay down Its implacable judgement. There is no redemption here, no son will rise on the third day, and yet the dawning day provides some joy. They got what they expected after all, which was more grief and suffering, so paradoxically, they must have done something right. They lived and died by the rules of an angry old God, and a furious withholding mother, yet via this production’s spare and terrible beauty, one believes that Abbie and Eben may find something better on the other side.

Star rating:  ★★★★★